I wonder if anyone else writes their memoirs with cliffhangers?

The previous volume ended with Stephen Fry's introduction to a mysterious white powder called "cocaine", and this book picks up from there.

As usual he seems brutally honest about himself and his fifteen year addiction. This isn't so much about his drug use as it is about the kind of life he led while addicted. On numerous occasions he explains to the reader (or listener) that he doesn't want it to sound like he's encouraging anyone to try the stuff, quite the opposite. He just wants people to be aware that he is a statistical anomaly in that he managed to stay addicted for so long without any major consequences to his health.

This volume is written in a more haphazard way. It's not very chronological. It still covers a period in his life from his rise to fame in the 1980s to the mid 1990s, but he moves from topic to topic in a refreshing way. I quite enjoyed his earlier volumes but there's nothing wrong with changing the format.

The last part of the book are diary entries from about a month in his life in 1993, which show what kind of person he was at the time and how he's changed.

The one thing I love about this books is his friendship with Hugh Laurie and the love he still has for him, it's very sweet.

Since the book stops around 1994 I'm hoping he's got another three or four volumes up his sleeve.

I never thought the day would come that I only gave two stars out of five to a Stephen Fry book. And yet, here we are. I immensely enjoyed his first two volumes of memoirs, Moab is my Washpot and The Fry Chronicles. More Fool Me is, sadly, by no means up to that standard.

My main complaint would be that this memoir feels lazy. The first sixty or so pages are devoted to rehashing the material of Moab and the Chronicles, to get new readers up to scratch. And the final 120 or so pages are diary entries from 1993, copied verbatim. That means only about half of the book is filled with actual new material.

The diary entries feel especially lazy. Fry explains their exclusion as being better equipped to give an impression of his daily (and nightly) exploits than his memory can. A point of accuracy, apparently. While, for me, accuracy is not the point of a memoir at all! I want reflection, connecting the dots, getting a real sense of someone's life and emotional state at the time. Not over a hundred pages of an awful lot of cocaine, visits to the Groucho club, and hanging about with famous people (Fry namedrops like it's going out of style).

Maybe this all could be forgiven if the sparse new material did provide this, but again, I was disappointed. There were a lot of references to material covered in The Fry Chronicles (dude you've already rehashed that for sixty odd pages AND I own it, stop trying to get me to buy it) and some expounding on the virtues and vices of cocaine. Very little on his actual work, feelings, or how that influenced him later on.

I can only hope a fourth volume will be up to Fry's usual standard again. Or that there won't be a fourth volume at all. After More Fool Me, I honestly don't know which scenario I'd prefer...

A lot about coke

I just love these Stephen Fry's autobiographies. He's so witty and good with words, it's really enjoyable experience to read what he writes. And his life is very interesting too. I highly recommend what ever he's written.

This is simply insulting. Having enjoyed both his previous autobiographies I looked forward to his latest. But this book seems to be something that was cobbled together by an assistant. I have an image of him throwing his diary for any year in the 90s to someone and telling them to make it into a book. I often don't enjoy a book but I've never been annoyed by one to this degree.

Chosen for something light hearted in CoViD times. a very poor choice indeed. ....a name dropping, boring, tedious, repetitive, did I mention name dropping, cocaine, clubbing, socialising, snooker playing, poker playing chess watching tedium of the worst sort. There was the occasional new word to look up, but oh dear, so boring, so tedious, so all-to-famous. Great wads of it were quotes from his diary, which read like calendar entries.....why did he bother, he obviously doesnt need the money.

3,5 for the audiobook

Thank-fecking-goodness I have finished this. I have always been (though it's waning) a fan of Fry and liked his first two volumes very much but this one is just ... boring. A book about? Who knows? Basically near-400 pages where every page says "took coke today" in one way or another. Boring. There's no point to it and no soul behind it. Oh I'm disappointed.

the first section is readable enough, but the diary section, what's it all for?! a promise to explain how cocaine ran his life for fifteen years, but delivery never comes and instead page after page of name-dropping and dry "this is how many words I wrote today" diary entries fiddle on for ages. I barely skimmed, choosing instead to be released from boredom.